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How scorn and ruin, pain and hate could flow:
But Hatred in a gold cave sits below;
Pleached with her hair, in mail of argent light
Shot into gold, a snake her forehead clips,
And skins the colour from her trembling lips.

LOVE. I.

Thou, from the first, unborn, undying love,
Albeit we gaze not on thy glories near,
Before the face of God didst breathe and move,
Though night and pain and ruin and death reign

here.

Thou foldest, like a golden atmosphere,
The very throne of the eternal God:
Passing through thee the edicts of his fear
Are mellowed into music, borne abroad

By the loud winds, though they uprend the sea,
Even from its central deeps: thine empery
Is over all; thou wilt not brook eclipse;
Thou goest and returnest to His lips
Like lightning: thou dost ever brood above
The silence of all hearts, unutterable Love.

II.

To know thee is all wisdom, and old age
Is but to know thee: dimly we behold thee
Athwart the veils of evils which infold thee.
We beat upon our aching hearts in rage;
We cry for thee; we deem the world thy tomb.
As dwellers in lone planets look upon
The mighty disk of their majestic sun,
Hollowed in awful chasme of wheeling gloom,
Making their day dim, so we gaze on thee.
Come, thou of many crowns, whiterobéd love,
Oh! rend the veil in twain: all men adore thee;
Heaven crieth after thee; earth waiteth for thee;
Breathe on thy winged throne, and it shall move
In music and in light o'er land and sea.

III.

And now-methinks I gaze upon thee now,
As on a serpent in his agonies

Awestricken Indians; what time laid low
And crushing the thick fragrant reeds he lies,
When the new year warmbreathéd on the Earth,
Waiting to light him with her purple skies,
Calls to him by the fountain to uprise.
Already with the pangs of a new birth
Strain the hot spheres of his convulséd eyes,
And in his writhings awful hues begin
To wander down his sable-sheeny sides,
Like light on troubled waters: from within
Anon he rusheth forth with merry din,

And in him light and joy and strength abides;
And from his brows a crown of living light
Looks through the thickstemmed woods by day and
night.

THE KRAKEN.

BELOW the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep,
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi

Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

ENGLISH WAR-SONG.

Who fears to die? Who fears to die!

Is there any here who fears to die?

He shall find what he fears; and none shall grieve
For the man who fears to die:

But the withering scorn of the many shall cleave
To the man who fears to die.
CHORUS. Shout for England!
Ho! for England!
George for England!
Merry England!
England for aye!

The hollow at heart shall crouch forlorn, He shall eat the bread of common scorn; It shall be steeped in the salt, salt tear,

Shall be steeped in his own salt tear: Far better, far better he never were born Than to shame merry England here. CHORUS.Shout for England! etc.

There standeth our ancient enemy: Hark! he shouteth - the ancient enemy! On the ridge of the hill his banners rise; They stream like fire in the skies; Hold up the Lion of England on high Till it dazzle and blind his eyes. CHORUS. - Shout for England! etc.

Come along! we alone of the earth are free;
The child in our cradles is bolder than he:
For where is the heart and strength of slaves?
Oh! where is the strength of slaves?
He is weak! we are strong: he a slave, we are fres
Come along! we will dig their graves.
CHORUS. Shout for England! etc.

There standeth our ancient enemy,
Will he dare to battle with the free?
Spur along! spur amain! charge to the fight:
Charge! charge to the fight!

Hold up the Lion of England on high!
Shout for God and our right!
CHORUS.Shout for England! etc.

SONNET.

MINE be the strength of spirit fierce and free,
Like some broad river rushing down alone,
With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was thrown
From his loud fount upon the echoing lea:-
Which with increasing might doth forward flee
By town, and tower, and hill, and cape, and isle,
And in the middle of the green salt sea
Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a mile.
Mine be the Power which ever to its sway
Will win the wise at once, and by degrees
May into uncongenial spirits flow;
Even as the great gulfstream of Florida
Floats far away into the Northern seas
The lavish growths of southern Mexico.

ΤΟ

I.

ALL good things have not kept aloof, Nor wandered into other ways;

I have not lacked thy mild reproof, Nor golden largess of thy praise, But life is full of weary days.

II.

Shake hands, my friend, across the brink Of that deep grave to which I go. Shake hands once more: I cannot sink So far-far down, but I shall know Thy voice, and answer from below.

III.

When, in the darkness over me,
The four-handed mole shall scrape,
Plant thou no dusky cypress tree,
Nor wreathe thy cap with doleful crape,
But pledge me in the flowing grape.

IV.

And when the sappy field and wood
Grow green beneath the showery gray,
And rugged barks begin to bud,

And through damp holts, newflushed with May,
Ring sudden laughters of the Jay;

V.

Then let wise Nature work her will, And on my clay the darnels grow. Come only when the days are still, And at my headstone whisper low, And tell me if the woodbines blow,

VI.

If thou art blest, my mother's smile Undimmed, if bees are on the wing: Then cease, my friend, a little while, That I may hear the throstle sing His bridal song, the boast of spring. VII.

Sweet as the noise in parched plains Of bubbling wells that fret the stones (If any sense in me remains),

Thy words will be; thy cheerful tones As welcome to my crumbling bones.

BUONAPARTE.

He thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak,
Madman-to chain with chains, and bind with bands
That island queen that sways the floods and lands
From Ind to Ind, but in fair daylight woke,
When from her wooden walls, lit by sure hands,
With thunders, and with lightnings, and with smoke,
Peal after peal, the British battle broke,
Lulling the brine against the Coptic sands.
We taught him lowlier moods, when Elsinore
Heard the war moan along the distant sea,
Rocking with shattered spars, with sudden fires
Flamed over: at Trafalgar yet once more
We taught him: late he learned humility [ers.
Perforce, like those whom Gideon schooled with bri-

SONNETS. I.

O BEAUTY, passing beauty! sweetest Sweet!

Standing about the charmed root.
Round about all is mute,

As the snowfield on the mountain-peaks,
As the sandfield at the mountain-foot.
Crocodiles in briny creeks

Sleep and stir not: all is mute.

If ye sing not, if ye make false measure,
We shall lose eternal pleasure,
Worth eternal want of rest.

Laugh not loudly: watch the treasure
Of the wisdom of the West.

In a corner wisdom whispers. Five and three
(Let it not be preached abroad) make an awful mys

tery.

For the blossom unto threefold music bloweth;
Evermore it is born anew;

And the sap to threefold music floweth,
From the root

Drawn in the dark,

Up to the fruit,

Creeping under the fragrant bark,

Liquid gold, honeysweet, thro' and thro'.

I only ask to sit beside thy feet.

Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes. Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold

My arms about thee-scarcely dare to speak. And nothing seems to me so wild and bold, As with one kiss to touch thy blessed check. Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control

Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke, The bare word Kiss hath made my inner soul To tremble like a lutestring, ere the note Hath melted in the silence that it broke.

II.

But were I loved, as I desire to be,

What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
And range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear,-if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain

Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine,

As I have heard that, somewhere in the main,
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.
"Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand-in-hand with thee,
To wait for death-mute-careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, though the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see.

THE HESPERIDES.

Hesperus and his daughters three,
That sing about the golden, tree.-COMUS.

THE Northwind fall'n, in the newstarrèd night
Zidonian Hanno, voyaging beyond
The hoary promontory of Soloë
Past Thymiaterion, in calmèd bays,
Between the southern and the western Horn,
Heard neither warbling of the nightingale,
Nor melody of the Libyan lotus flute

Blown seaward from the shore; but from a slope
That ran bloombright into the Atlantic blue,
Beneath a highland leaning down a weight
Of cliffs, and zoned below with cedar shade,
Came voices, like the voices in a dream,
Continuous, till he reached the outer sea.

Looking warily

Every way,

Guard the apple night and day,

Lest one from the East come and take it away.

II.

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, ever and aye,

Looking under silver hair with a silver eye.

Father, twinkle not thy steadfast sight;

Kingdoms lapse, and climates change, and races

die:

Honour comes with mystery;

Hoarded wisdom brings delight.

Number, tell them over and number
How many the mystic fruit tree holds
Lest the redcombed dragon slumber
Rolled together in purple folds.

Look to him, father, lest he wink, and the golden apple be stol'n away,

For his ancient heart is drunk with overwatchings night and day,

Round about the hallowed fruit tree curled-
Sing away, sing aloud evermore in the wind, with

out stop,

Lest his scaled eyelid drop,

For he is older than the world.

If he waken, we waken,

Rapidly levelling eager eyes.

If he sleep, we sleep,

Dropping the eyelid over the eyes.
If the golden apple be taken,

The world will be overwise.
Five links, a golden chain, are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters threc,
Bound about the golden tree.

III.

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, night

and day,

Lest the old wound of the world be healed,

The glory unsealed,

The golden apple stolen away,
And the ancient secret revealed.
Look from west to east along:

Father, old Himala weakens, Caucasus is bold and strong.

Wandering waters unto wandering waters call:

Let them clash together, foam and fall.

Out of watchings, out of wiles,

Comes the bliss of secret smiles.

All things are not told to all.

Half-round the mantling night is drawn,
Purple fringed with even and dawn.

Hesper hateth Phosphor, evening hateth morn.

Two streams upon the violet deep:

For the western sun and the western star,
And the low west wind, breathing afar,
The end of day and beginning of night
Make the apple holy and bright;

Holy and bright, round and full, bright and blest,
Mellowed in a land of rest;
Watch it warily day and night;
All good things are in the west.
Till mid noon the cool east light
Is shut out by the tall hillbrow;
But when the fullfaced sunset yellowly
Stays on the flowering arch of the bough,
The luscious fruitage clustereth mellowly,
Goldenkernelled, goldencored,
Sunset-ripened above on the tree.

The world is wasted with fire and sword,
But the apple of gold hangs over the sea.
Five links, a golden chain are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,
Daughters three,

Bound about

The quick lark's closest-carolled strains,
The shadow rushing up the sea,
The lighting flash atween the rains,
The sunlight driving down the lea,
The leaping stream, the very wind,
That will not stay, upon his way,
To stoop the cowslip to the plains,
Is not so clear and bold and free
As you, my falcon Rosalind.
You care not for another's pains,
Because you are the soul of joy,
Bright metal all without alloy.

Life shoots and glances thro' your veins,
And flashes off a thousand ways,
Through lips and eyes in subtle rays.
Your hawkeyes are keen and bright,
Keen with triumph, watching still

To pierce me through with pointed light;
But oftentimes they flash and glitter
Like sunshine on a dancing rill,
And your words are seeming-bitter,
Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter
From excess of swift delight.

III.

Come down, come home, my Rosalind, My gay young hawk, my Rosalind:

Some red heath flower in the dew,
Touched with sun rise. We must bind
And keep you fast, my Rosalind,
Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind,

And clip your wings, and make you love:
When we have lured you from above,

And that delight of frolic flight, by day or night,
From north to south;

Will bind you fast in silken cords,

And kiss away the bitter words
From off your rosy mouth.

NOTE TO ROSALIND.

Perhaps the following lines may be aflowed to stand as a separate poem; originally they made part of the text, where they were manifestly improper.

MY Rosalind, my Rosalind,

Bold, subtle, careless Rosalind,

Is one of those who know no strife

Of inward woe or outward fear;

To whom the slope and stream of Life,
The life before, the life behind,

In the ear, from far and near,
Chimeth musically clear.
My falconhearted Rosalind,
Fullsailed before a vigorous wind,
Is one of those who cannot weep
For others' woes, but overleap
All the petty shocks and fears
That trouble life in early years,
With a flash of frolic scorn
And keen delight, that never falls
Away from freshness, selfupborne
With such gladness as, whenever
The freshflushing springtime calls
To the flooding waters cool.
Young fishes, on an April morn,
Up and down a rapid river,
Leap the little waterfalls
That sing into the pebbled pool.
My happy falcon, Rosalind,

Hath daring fancies of her own,
Fresh as the dawn before the day,
Fresh as the early seasmell blown

Through vineyards from an inland ba7.
My Rosalind, my Rosalind,

Because no shadow on you falls,
Think you hearts are tennisballs,
To play with, wanton Rosalind?

From the bosom of a hill.

"Tis Kate-she sayeth what she will: For Kate hath an unbridled tongue, Clear as the twanging of a harp.

Her heart is like a throbbing star.
Kate hath a spirit ever strung

Like a new bow, and bright and sharp
As edges of the scymetar.
Whence shall she take a fitting mate?
For Kate no common love will feel;
My woman-soldier, gallant Kate,

As pure and true as blades of steel.

Kate saith "the world is void of might."
Kate saith "the men are gilded flies."
Kate snaps her fingers at my vows;
Kate will not hear of lovers' sighs.
I would I were an armèd knight,
Far famed for wellwon enterprise,
And wearing on my swarthy brows
The barland of new-wreathed emprise;
For in a moment I would pierce
The blackest files of clanging fight,
And strongly strike to left and right,
In dreaming of my lady's eyes.

Oh! Kate loves well the bold and fierce:
But none are bold enough for Kate,
She cannot find a fitting mate.

How long shall the icy-hearted Muscovite
Oppress the region ?" Us, O Just and Good,
Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three;
Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right-
A matter to be wept with tears of blood!

SONNET.

As when with downcast eyes we muse and brood,
And ebb into a former life, or seem

To lapse far back in a confused dream
To states of mystical similitude;

If one but speaks or hems or stirs his chair,
Ever the wonder waxeth more and more,

So that we say, "All this hath been before,
All this hath been, I know not when or where."
So, friend, when first I looked upon your face,
Our thought gave answer, each to each, so true,
Opposed mirrors each reflecting each-
Altho' I knew not in what time or place,
Methought that I had often met with you,

And each had lived in the other's mind and speech.

SONNET

WRITTEN ON HEARING OF THE OUTBREAK OF THE
POLISH INSURRECTION.

BLOW ye the trumpet, gather from afar
The hosts to battle: be not bought and sold.
Arise, brave Poles, the boldest of the bold;
Break through your iron shackles-fling them far.
O for those days of Piast, ere the Czar
Grew to his strength among his deserts cold;
When even to Moscow's cupolas were rolled
The growing murmurs of the Polish war!
Now must your noble anger blaze out more
Than when from Sobieski, clan by clan,
The Moslem myriads fell, and fled before-
Than wheu Zamoysky smote the Tatar Khan;
Than earlier, when on the Baltic shore
Boleslas drove the Pomeranian.

O DARLING ROOM.

I.

O DARLING room, my heart's delight
Dear room, the apple of my sight,
With thy two couches soft and white,
There is no room so exquisite,
No little room so warm and bright,
Wherein to read, wherein to write.

II.

For I the Nonnenwerth have seen,
And Oberwinter's vineyards green,
Musical Lurlei; and between
The hills to Bingen have I been,
Bingen in Darmstadt, where the Rhene
Curves toward Mentz, a woody scene.

III.

Yet never did there meet my sight,
In any town to left or right,

A little room so exquisite,

With two such couches, soft and white; Not any room so warm and bright, Wherein to read, wherein to write.

SONNET

ON THE RESULT OF THE LATE RUSSIAN INVASION
OF POLAND.

How long, O God, shall men be ridden down,
And trampled under by the last and least
Of men? The heart of Poland hath not ceased
To quiver, though her sacred blood doth drown
The fields; and out of every mouldering town
Cries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased,
Till that o'ergrown Barbarian in the East
Transgress his ample bound to some new crown: --
Cries to Thee, "Lord, how long shall these things be?

TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH. You did late review my lays, Crusty Christopher;

You did mingle blame and praise, Rusty Christopher.

When I learnt from whom it came, I forgave you all the blame,

Musty Christopher;

I could not forgive the praise,
Busty Christopher.